


Cause I still see your face getting lost in the crowd

by Kay245



Series: And I still hear the sound of the pack when they howl [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bran didn't tell Jon nor Daenerys that Viserion is a wight, Bran wil warg, F/M, Jon has good instincts, Sansa is a bad-ass archer, The Night King is sneaky, Undead Viserion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 13:32:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13167960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kay245/pseuds/Kay245
Summary: As the first battle gainst the undead and the Night King takes place, unbeknownst to Daenerys and Jon, Bran and Sansa prepared for their own battle. A dragon is coming from the Wolfswood and unfortunately, this dragon is not among the living anymore...





	Cause I still see your face getting lost in the crowd

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all,
> 
> So yes, I know I promised this a long time ago but I got a bit stuck with it. I needed to have it very fast paced and with a tension that I couldn't achieve in my first draft. After reaaranging all POVs I find something that I find satisfactory.
> 
> Unlike previous stories in this serie, the Sansa and Jon's POVs will be alternating very quickly as they act simulataneously. I hope this won't be detrimental to the understanding but instead will reinforce the dramatic tension I was looking for.
> 
> The title is taken from the song Easy Tiger by Portugal The Man (as are all the titles of the stories in this serie). That song has inspired me for this story as the general state of mind of Sansa for the serie (because of the sad softness under the strength and determination that the song evokes in me).   
> However, I have to admit that if Easy Tiger was the pinpoint of Sansa's state of mind, for Jon, the inspiration comes from Run Boy Run by Woodkid (and would actually make a pretty good soundtrack for the scene from his POV). 
> 
> Well anyway, I hope you enjoy this.

They had waited for the wights  in the field in front of the Wolfswood. The men despite the eeriness of the situation followed the orders not to go into the forest. They had closed their ears to the wails and  whispers of dead people enticing them to come to them. Finally, after a full day spent in the gloom of a light filtered through clouds heavy with snow, the dead army appeared and behind them the Night King. Everything went fast from then. The men shouted war cries and runned into the melee, Daenerys took off with her dragons and started to burn a way to the creature that had killed her child. Jon, himself, was on a horse and charging and beheading as many white walkers as he could. The fight was on and yet, like a year before as he galloped to save Rickon, he couldn’t shake a creeping doubt that this was too straightforward for the Night King. There was a massive amount of wights, that was true, but not the sheer number that Sam had computed there could be from the years of people dying over the wall. Something wasn’t right.

 

Sans stood on the battlements of Winterfell but her gaze wasn’t lingering on the tawny and yellowish sight north-east of Winterfell. No, instead of reflecting on the fates of men in the battlefield, her eyes were drowned to the edge of the Wolfswood closest to Winterfell, where another battle was going to be fought. Yet, she couldn’t dispel the deep sense of unreality fogging her mind even when she first saw the first wight emerge from the edge of the forest. Was it because she’d been there when Bran had spoken in a rare trance of Greensight? His voice had taken a flat, metallic tone as he’d vividly described the sight appearing just before her. She had been gripped by fear then, as Bran had been actively avoiding seeing into the future for the Night King not to gain any leverage over them. She’d almost thought that it had been the Night King’s own voice threatening them. But Bran had reassured her afterwards, telling her that this was a dream sent by the Gods and had been untainted by the ice grip of their enemy. Now that she saw the undead army converging towards Winterfell, she wondered at how much reassuring this was to be. Nonetheless, she couldn’t muster real fear as the dissonance created by deja-vu overwhelmed any instinctual response she could have had. Brienne started shouting orders to the guards that had remained in Winterfell. There weren’t so many of them but they’d gambled that the wards would be sufficient after they’d reinforced them with her and Arya’s blood before their little sister left for King’s Landing. Right now, most of the guard was armed with bows and arrows which some tips of were coated in a fine layer of dragon glass and others greased and waiting to be lit up. The men took place along the rampart following Brienne orders, except for the low battlement above Hunters’ gate. This was where Sansa stood, with her own long bow, waiting for quite another dangerous foe.

 

Over the battlefield, the fight was well on going. The bitter taste of foul play that had lingered in Jon’s mind had been shelved at the back of his mind, as he focused on trying to get his valyrian steel in more and more alien generals. The troops were now embroiled within each other and he had to be careful to distinguish between breathing men and returned fallen comrades-turned-foes, a feat rendered even more difficult by snow and smoke from the fires. Now invisible to the ground, Dany was above him, primary trying to circumscribe the battle to the valley they were in and prevent any deadlings to make their way to Wintertown, and then trying to find any way that might lead her to the Night King without giving him an opening to hit Rhaegal nor Drogon. The noise, the cold, the scent of fire and death, everything merged together in an incantation of previous last resort battles. As if attuned to this unspoken magic, Jon could feel the high of the battle coursing his veins. As for now their strategy seemed to work. And that’s when he saw it.

 

A huge wall of blue light surged into the sky at his left. It was visibly far away from the battlefield. However, even before he could ascertain his position, his heart froze in his chest in premonition. Winterfell. Unnatural fire. His mind, in free fall, finally grappled with a truth too hard not to send him spiraling.  _ What happens to dead things behind the Wall? _ There had been one thing of notice that died behind the Wall. Something that they brought there during their wight hunt. A vision of a defeated beast sinking into a frozen lake. Dead Dragon. His heart thudded a painful beat. Winterfell. A memory of a grey silhouette followed by a white wolf giving instructions to remove wood and fabric from open spaces. A second beat.  _ Sansa _ . On the third languished beat, his mind regained control of his body who had kept moving and killing. But it wasn’t reason that was guiding him when he sharply turned his horse away from the battle, unheeding its whinnying of protest. As instinct took over, without a thought to his companions, he raced to the keep **.** All the while, his mind was fixed on only one thing: reaching Winterfell before it fell to undead flammes.

 

As orders were issued by Brienne and knights for the men to take position, Sansa tried not shiver as she took the bow in her hands. Every time she readied her bow she couldn’t forget that it had been Ramsay’s weapon of choice. As much as she’d vowed to banish him from her mind, there was always just a spark of a moment as she lifted the supple-turned-to-rigid wood when his evil grin would flash behind her eyes. Now, she forced herself not to fidget. She needed all her focus for this. She looked on and saw her prey come from behind the Godswood. She encroached a first arrow on the bow and lifted her weapon toward her target. She took another breath, letting it shudder out. It wasn’t everyday that a maiden was to face a dragon. A blue wall of flames engulfed the Wolfswood.

 

Jon pressed his horse to its limits, the name of his sister reasoning in his head. Sansa, Sansa, Sansa, a litany chanted in his head as a prayer to the Old Gods. He couldn’t be too late. A flash of another battle in his mind as a silhouette with hair glowing like fire fell to the ground.  _ Not again _ . As the stallion coursed towards Winterfell, he saw the missing wights coming from the Wolfswood.  _ So there they were _ , he noted absently as his mind focused on the the dragon that was going towards the main entrance of Winterfell.  _ No, no _ ,  _ no _ . He hurried his mount faster. 

 

Sansa looked on as her second arrow tipped with dragonglass missed its target. She cursed under her breath and encroached another one.  _ Please Bran, hurry, HURRY, _ she called in her mind. She risked another look at the dead dragon’s eyes. Still that eerie blue that froze all living hearts. She cursed once more, hesitating between waiting for the milky grey of a warging or trying once again her luck with another arrow of her limited supply. Bran said he’d seen the aftermath of the battle, that their only hope was of him warging. So while she trained with her bow, Bran trained and tried to warg into the beasts. It was their only chance, as when Bran warged into the dead dragon, he would be able to keep him close and still so she could pierce its heart through the open wound in its chest.  _ Bran saw the conversation after the dragon was defeated, it will happen, it WILL happen _ .She repeated all this to herself but could still feel hysteria starting to take hold. She closed her eyes when she saw her hands starting to shake.  _ NO, NO, you survived Joffrey, you survived Ramsay. Dying by dragon fire is not the worse that can happen to you. You know it. The worst already happened,  _ she told herself. She opened her eyes, her hands stopped shaking. She fixed the dragon in the eyes. She shot.

 

Jon lost precious time killing a few wights and negotiating the opening of the East Gate. However, he soon was able to enter. Jumping from his horse as soon as he was inside the castle, he ran through the courtyards, letting his instinct guide him to where the head of the guards would be. He found Brienne but no sign of Sansa. Brienne, as soon as she saw him, indicated to him the battlements in front of the Godswood, keeping issuing orders at the same time. Finally arriving at the tower above the small battlement upon the gate, he saw Sansa, alone, facing the dead mass of Viserion.

 

Sansa saw her next to last arrow miss once again. The smoke from the fires that had been lit to trap the wights was starting to obscure her line of vision and soon she wouldn’t be able to aim anymore. This was it. They were all going to die. As if it had felt her inner turmoil, the dragon opened its mouth. Sansa knew immediately what it meant. Bran, she murmured to herself. BRAN, she shouted internally as she felt the air being engulfed by the fiery beast.

 

Jon couldn’t move as he saw the beautiful silhouette of Sansa standing before Daenerys’ dead child. His heart stopped beating as he realised what the sudden movement of air meant. The dragon was going to breathe fire.

 

Suddenly, Sansa felt something crash in her mind. There was a presence there, someone that shouldn’t be there.  _ Sansa _ … it was Bran’s voice and at once, she felt all the memories and experience from the Three-Eyed-Raven explode in her mind as a kaleidoscope of images, feelings and thoughts. She felt her mind fracture and bend under the pressure, fighting against the intrusion.  _ Sansa _ … lamented a voice. Bran, recalled a tiny fraction of her consciousness. And then, she understood what was happening. Bran was warging into her, giving her all the knowledge from the Three-Eyed-Raven to contend with the dragon. She should have been relieved but all she could feel was the searing pain of this unnatural intrusion. She wanted him out… It was agony to have him inside her. A memory of Ramsay came back to her mind as she internally trashed against the presence of her brother. And then, another memory, this one of Rickon, running toward Jon for his life, trying to outrun the arrows flying to him.  _ No, no, _ she fiercely thought.  _ I won’t let down another brother. I won’t let him die like Rickon _ . Suddenly, the piercing pain that had seized her stopped and she felt Bran settle beside her in her mind, sharing the view from hundreds of ravens that had rallied Winterfell. She saw beside the smoke, beside the fire, until the dead heart of the dragon. No, it was more than that, she _ felt the way _ to that dragon heart. And like that, with Bran murmuring encouragements and sharing his ravens with her, she encroached her final arrow. Aimed and shot. 

 

Jon had remained glued to the ground as he saw Sansa shoot her arrow, her eyes unseeing and milky even from the distance. His breath caught in his throat. How was it possible? And then he heard the loud shriek of the dragon and the faltering of its wings. Yet, in an instant, the enormous beast regained its position and closed in on Sansa. Jon shouted at her to get out of the way, but her delicate silhouette didn’t budge, seemingly lost in a trance. She took a step toward the dragon. Jon ran.

 

Sansa felt Bran leaving her mind as soon as she heard the cry of the dragon. Yet something else had screamed in her mind as well and she was still reeling from that inhuman wail. As her eyes focused again, she saw that instead of dying and crashing down, the dragon was closing in. She knew she should be terrified. Their plan had failed. Yet, as the undead creature came closer, there was something murmuring in her head, a certain stillness that called to her. She took a step toward the dragon. It opened its mouth. She was going to die she realised.  _ Finally… you’ll find your rest in death _ … murmured a terrible voice in her head.  

 

“Sansa!” Jon shouted at the top of his lung as he moved toward Sansa.

 

Sansa heard her name called in anguish. She turned her head and saw Jon running toward her. At once, the seductive voice lost its appeal and when she looked back at Viserion, her longing for death seemed to dissolve slowly. She needed to put an end to this. She needed to save Winterfell.

 

When Sansa turned to him, Jon felt his breath leave him at the look upon her face. He knew that look. He knew it because he’d seen it on Ygritte before she died. He knew it because he had had the same during the Battle of the Bastards. It was the acceptance of death. Sansa turned back to look at the dragon and Jon shouted her name again. Then, the dragon turned on itself and fired upon the wights that were still coming from the Wolfswood. As the last undeads died in the fire, the beast turned and left. Sansa followed it with her eyes, something almost forlorn in her gaze. Jon realised then that it wasn’t just acceptance of death. Sansa hadn’t accepted death, she’d expected it. Worse, she’d  _ welcomed _ it. Suddenly, something roared in him at the idea that this beautiful woman, that kind woman would be so tired that she’d would want death. The roar in his ears and the surge of a dangerous heat made him grab her and drag her to him as soon as he reached her. She looked bewildered but still so far away. The worry and anguish in him, made him want to tether her to this realm, to erase the far away expression on her face. No, not her, he couldn’t lose her, he couldn’t have her die… He just  _ couldn’t _ . And he reacted. He took her face into his hands, and kissed her. He didn’t even realise that this time, it wasn’t her forehead beneath his lips.

 

Sansa felt herself gasp as she felt Jon’s mouth on hers. Suddenly, all the cold that had settled in her bones burst into flames as Jon took the opportunity of her opened lips to claim her mouth deeply. One of his hand was still on her face, entwined in her hair, his other arm tugging her close to him. She felt loved, protected. She surrendered to the heat and kissed him back. Letting her tongue join his, her hand letting go of her bow to come and grip his heated neck. 

 

Jon groaned as he felt Sansa’s cold hand against his feverish skin. He still kept kissing her, a maelstrom of emotions keeping him from making sense of his actions. The only thing he knew at that moment was that Sansa was not dead, that her lips was on his, that she was sharing her taste with him and that was he was drunk on it. He wanted to drown in her and for her to drown with him. He tightened his hold on her, wanting to feel all of her and for her to feel all of him. She was here, she was safe. It was all that counted.


End file.
